


Kalm

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Fireside Tales [124]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The passing of a King, the crowning of a new, and reactions to both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kalm

**Author's Note:**

> Sigrid, Bard Sigridson, Cýron  
> Prompt: Wine  
> Alternate Universe: Agnu Ra Nutû

"How is King Thorin?" Sigrid pours wine for Tauriel and Kíli, preferring not to have too many servants about when she's meeting guests. Really, she'd prefer not to have them around ever, but apparently it's part of being King of Dale, to have people looking after her every need and want.

"My uncle's fine. He would invite you for the Maker's Day celebrations, if you would come." Kíli looks nearly the same as he had when Sigrid had first met him in Lake-Town, a lifetime ago. She knows she does not. Indeed, she will soon join her father and brother and husband in death, and she will be glad for the rest for her weary soul.

"I will not be able to make it so far, I'm afraid." Sigrid smiles, and when she sees the worry in Kíli's eyes, she reaches out to rest her hand on his. "I'm not afraid of why I shall not make it, Kíli. I have been waiting for this for some time now."

Tauriel's hand rests on Kíli's shoulder, long fingers digging into the velvet of his tunic. Keeping him from speaking, if he intended to do so.

"Bard, though, should accept the invitation in my stead. If it is extended to him, upon his coronation." Sigrid will live to see that, at least, for she will not die without having passed crown and bow to her son she had named for her father.

"I will do so." Kíli's voice is rough, and he turns his hand, gently grasping hers. "You will be missed, Sigrid."

"I know." Sigrid tightens her grip on Kíli's hand. She can still draw the bow she had from her father, and will pass to Bard, but only barely and it exhausts her. "Bard will be crowned before I die, but I do not expect to much outlive that celebration."

Kíli nods, though he cannot speak. Sigrid expects he'll pass the message on, and she'll find her home full of dwarves in the coming days and weeks, all the way through to the end. Perhaps even a visit from Thorin, though that she doesn't truly expect.

* * *

Bard lifts a goblet full of wine above his head, silently asking for the blessings of Eru and all the Valar before he brings it to his lips, taking a small sip from the goblet. He passes it next to his wife, who does the same, and so on around the long table that holds his kin and his most important guests. The goblet is but dregs when it comes to his hands again, and he drinks the last of it down.

"Let all remember we are kin here, beneath this roof. In the memory of those who came before, and in hope for those who come after." He meets the eyes of Thorin, across the table from him, darkened with their own measure of the grief Bard feels. Inevitable death might be, but it will always hurt those left behind.

"Brothers in blood, and in battle." Thorin's voice is rough, but steady. "Her name will be writ in the memories of dwarves, and into our annals, that she will never be forgotten. Friend of the Mountain, was Sigrid, King of Dale."

Bard nods, his lips curving in the barest of smiles, though he is glad to know his mother is not forgotten by the King Under the Mountain.

* * *

There is silence in the throne room after the news is brought of the death of the King of Dale, and Cýron tightens her grip on her goblet, the red wine in it trembling in time with her own self. There is no reason to be surprised that a mortal is dead, yet she is. She does not understand why, but it is a question to ask herself later, when she does not have the duties that should have fallen to her youngest brother. The brother who lies in a stone tomb until the world is remade.

"And the new king?" Thranduil's voice is light and chill as the first snows of winter, and his expression smooth as glass.

"Only asks that the same agreements which have held between Dale and the Woodland Realm remain now that the crown has passed to him." The messenger does not cower away from the chill that all but radiates off the royal elves he's facing. Cýron finds that impressive, though she will not say that aloud.

"Then he shall have it." Thranduil lifts a hand in dismissal, and the messenger nods, turning to leave, guards falling in around him to escort him to the river-gate. There is nothing more than needs said, and none of the Men of Dale have desired to remain longer than is needed to deliver what message they may bear.

Indeed, more often has Tauriel brought word from Dale when she comes to bring information from Erebor. Cýron still wonders that she bothers to return at all, save that the dwarves are less willing to set foot in the Woodland Realm than are the Men of Dale, and someone must be willing to go between Mountain and Wood.

Once the echoes of the Man's footsteps fade, Thranduil takes an audible breath, before letting it out in a soft snort. "Do they think I care what change they have in their leaders, save if those who do so think they should be better served by marching against me?"

Cýron drinks down what wine remains in her goblet before she lets herself even think of responding to that question. "Perhaps it is not that they think you care, but that they wish to know they are acknowledged by you for what they are."

"Likely enough." Thranduil sighs, letting himself slouch slightly on his throne, though everyone around him pretends not to notice. "Was there ever an invitation to this new king's coronation?"

"One which Dînthor accepted on your behalf, and attended." Cýron had not know what her brother had done until she'd found him coming in the river-gate. "He did not inform anyone until he was caught returning, and then only told me that he thought it would be better an heir went rather than you."

Thranduil raises an eyebrow, asking without words why she had not thought it important to tell him this sooner.

"You did not ask me why my first brother has been given the task of keeping the forest clear of spiders." Cýron shrugs one shoulder. "You did give me leave to keep my brothers in line however I thought appropriate, after Hargam's indiscretion."

Her father's lips twitch and twist into an amused smile for a brief moment. "Indeed I did." He pauses, idly playing with his own half-filled goblet of wine. "Keep him on such duty until he has the sense to apologize to me for his presumption."

"Of course, my lord." Cýron nods her head, and keeps it bowed to hide her smile for a moment. "It may be some time." If only because neither of her living brothers are any less stubborn than she or their father.

**Author's Note:**

> Bard is followed by a son Brand, who is followed by a daughter Sigrid after the War of the Ring. The bow that had been Bard's, passed through the first Sigrid through that line, is taken up by the younger Sigrid when she is already in her twenties and a mother who had expected the crown would pass to her young son, as she had expected her father to live long enough for her son to be grown enough to take up bow and crown. She's rather annoyed that her plans to be no more than a wife and mother were interrupted, but she's also unwilling to let the legacy of her kin fall to her cousin when she's been raised with the responsibility.
> 
> Also, yes, now all of Thranduil's children have names. Cýron, followed by Dînthor, followed by Hargam, and the youngest was Legolas.
> 
> The title means "crown". (Updated to match the new dictionary.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Under a Burning Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467850) by [Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri)




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